Trying Bad

I've had two different friends suggest that I get mad, that I turn bad, that I let my anger and my rage out. That I crystallize it. That I dye my hair black. That I get evil. I want to be evil. I want to be bad. I want, as one friend suggested "the end of nice." Not that I'm particularly nice. I mean, I am nice. I want everyone to like me. The end of that.  I want a change. A decision. A turning towards the night. It is Autumn, right? That annual reminder of death, rebirth. Decay. Rotten. I feel like I am turning into a demon. I have to go to Hell. I have to have my Season in Hell, I guess, for a little bit longer. I have to accept it. This is how I will learn to articulate it, the anger that I think is righteous. It's a cycle. Like, I have to trick myself into setting myself on fire or something, about being in Hell. About being, like, cosmically aflame. Like the Sun. Like the planets. It's weird that there's even fire in outer space, since there's no air there, right? It's not fire exactly. Can someone smarter than I am explain that, for me. Can I subcontract that out, an explanation of flame in outer space? What about the music of the spheres. There's so much I don't understand-- I keep using the same metaphors, the universes, the gravitational forces inside a person. I'm deciding to go dark, to see the other side. I knew I was going to. I knew this would be required. It's just so scary and confusing and sad. But that's okay. Persephone. I'm ready. I've faced the Sun and now I'm ready to face the fucking Moon. I'm turning to night. I want to be evil.

I'm worried about my fatty acids. I'm worried I haven't been getting my Omega-3s. My DHA and my EPA and ALA. My acronyms. I'm told, I researched what they're for. Where they occur (their sources) and what they do for you (their benefits). The bad news is I have neither. I'm given to understand that they benefit the cardiovascular system, but that's just one wing of their miraculous reach. Apparently they also affect the brain; how it works. Furthermore, there seems to be a link between Omega-3 consumption and emotional function. Mood. Maybe that's the reason I'm so depressed, so unfocused, so unsuccessful, etc. It's just a matter of oils. Maybe it's just that my neurons just need to be greased up. Lube, as any sex-positive sex-educator will tell you, is critical and yet culturally underrated. So now I'm sprinkling flax seeds into everything. The cheap kind I get from the "Latin Foods" aisle of the grocery store. I'm contemplating fish oil, but there are literally communities set up with archives of information on how to start shopping for fish oil supplements, how to start conceptualizing the seven (yes, seven) criteria you should be using when shopping for fish oil supplements: freshness, potency, sustainability, taste, purity, I forget the other two. It's disgusting. I want to take that fake algae supplements, but maybe those don't work. Should I start eating fish? Cold water, oily fish? Should I get really into sushi? Maybe this is the cure for my depression: sushi. It could be that simple.

There's an exhaust fan on the roof of the building next door. The chicken shop. It runs all day and all night. It's incredibly loud. I think it started this summer, started making noise this summer. I just started noticing the noise when I got back from West Coast in August. At first I thought it was like an infernal buzzing, like a chainsaw, like a jackhammer. I called the cops. I filled out noise complaints. I tried to describe the noise, and its location, in forms submitted online to the police precinct. I gave the address. I got an automated e-mail response the next day, saying that the police had visited the location but could find no evidence of the disturbance. Since no further action was required, none was taken. Well of course not. You can't hear the buzzing from ground level; only up here. I wonder if Paps can hear it; it's right outside her bedroom window. It drove me mad.  Lately, though, the sound has changed. It's gotten wobblier, less intense, somehow more percussive. I can hear it rattling around a little bit. I think, Maybe the machine is loosening itself. I think, the machine is relaxing. We're getting to know each other. Now the machine and I are neighbors. Now I hear it clicking more, lisping, stuttering. Now, I think, I can hear it purring.

No comments: